


The Toxic Thoughts of an Overachiever

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Diary/Journal, Eventual Romance, Gen, Guilty Kallus, Kallus Has Issues, Kallus learns what it means to be a rebel, M/M, Nautolan OC, Post-Episode: s03e21-22 Zero Hour, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Reflection, So his new friend gives him a diary, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-08-27 22:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16711438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: --"I'm convinced you're a ticking time-bomb of repressed emotion. From experience, I've learned that writing is an excellent way to alleviate some of that pent-up pressure."--Or: Kallus starts up a diary because apparently, he has some issues he needs to work out.(Title from "Toxic Thoughts" by Faith Marie. Formerly called "A Ticking Time-Bomb of Repressed Emotion")





	1. An Opening Letter; So-Called Diary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- Starts roughly four days after the battle of Atollon.
> 
> (New Character)  
> Madame Fae Vrelik: A battle-worn nautolan of advanced age who serves as Kallus' main supervisor. She lost both an arm and a leg in an accident long ago, and has advanced, personalized prostheses in place of them.

 

> _Dear Alexsandr,_
> 
> _This is a holodiary, as I’m sure you’re well aware. Since it seems we’re going to be sharing a room for quite some time, I thought it would make a nice housewarming gift, seeing as you don’t exactly have many personal possessions left (though I imagine you didn’t have many to begin with). It has a built-in music player with all the songs you told me you liked already downloaded , and I’ve upgraded the storage space by fifty percent._
> 
> _You’re free to use it however you choose, under one condition: you must utilize it in-part as it was intended to be used, and start logging the thoughts, feelings, and interactions you have throughout each and every day._
> 
> _Yes, I’m asking you to keep a literal diary, and no, I won’t reconsider._
> 
> _I’m convinced you’re a ticking time-bomb of repressed emotion. From experience, I’ve learned that writing is an excellent way to alleviate some of that pent-up pressure. Refuse to do this, and I’ll personally ask Zeb  to carry you to our on-sight therapist and keep you there until all of your trauma gets sorted out. It’s your choice, darling._
> 
> _\-- The Madame_
> 
> _(P.S.: No, I won’t be reading anything you write, but I will be checking in on you, and I_ **_will_ ** _know if you’re lying to me.)_
> 
>  

* * *

 

##  **[Entry 0.0.1]**

**Time: 10:14 PM**

**Location: Shared Quarters with Madame Fae**

**Subject: “So-Called Diary”**

I am almost 100% positive this is simply another way for you to keep an eye on me, a way to ensure that I truly am loyal to this Alliance and not playing some kind of long-game for the Empire, so I’m going to start this off by saying _I’m not._ You can go ahead and take your paranoia elsewhere, Madame Fae.  (And in case it’s not obvious, I’m not buying the whole ‘you aren’t going to read this’ bit. You’ve been very respectful of my privacy thus far, but you giving me a personalized holodiary is a bit _too_ suspicious.)

That said, I’m still going to do what you’ve asked of me, not because I want to (in fact I very much _don’t_ want to _),_ but because you’re my superior, and no matter how loose regulations are here, I always respect and listen to my superiors.

Just, you know, a little less blindly than before, maybe.

It’s rather ironic the more I think about it. Colonel Yularen, a former instructor of mine back at the Imperial Academy, used to always preach the importance of discretion and common-sense thinking. That the asking-and-answering of questions was pivotal not just to the ISB, but to life in general. Yet, even with that knowledge permanently stamped into my mind, I failed to look at the great machine I worked for with a critical eye. It took a broken leg on a frozen ice moon, and the unwarranted mercy of a lasat, for me to finally examine the Empire. It took longer still for me to accept that such an Empire was not one of order, but of oppression.   

I like to think I’m a better person now, if only slightly, if only for the fact that I’m more aware and conscious of the universe around me. Zeb says I still have all the tics of an Imp. You said that, too, I believe, and I know for a fact that there are ideals deeply ingrained that will need to be worked on (xenophobia being one of them). (I’m sorry for the way I reacted to you upon our first meeting, by the way. I’ve just never officially met a nautolan before, much less one that’s a cyborg. I know you’ve already forgiven me -- you said so before I could even mention it -- but still. An apology is in order, if only in writing.)

I’m reading your opening letter again. I’m not sure how writing about my days will help with the “ticking time-bomb”, but I know you mean well, and these past few days, your respect and care has shown me I can trust you. I do this because you’re my superior, but it’s my hope you might be onto something. You rebels have always been good at proving me wrong, after all.

Regardless, response to aforementioned letter now complete, my day has been...uneventful. Enriching and welcome given what just happened, but nothing to really write on. Just more debriefing, which I can't say I want to get into. I helped Zeb unload and organize cargo afterwards. I’m not ready to call him a friend, but it’s nice being around him without the imminent threat of death dancing over us. He makes for good company; we play off each other well,  and he has a way of keeping the mood light and hopeful when I can’t even bring myself to smile. I appreciate it.

He says we should have sparring practice together, since he can’t get good bo-rifle practice just facing a bunch of “untrained, excitable kids”. I...didn’t give him an answer. “Maybe,” I’d said. I’m afraid of what it might feel like feeling a training stick in hand instead of my bo-rifle. I sure do miss that glorious weapon.

Thrawn probably has it now, as “evidence” to be analyzed, or to keep in his (mostly ill-gotten) collection. I hope the blue bastard chokes on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to see what rebel life was like in the eyes of Kallus, and the idea of doing it in the form of a diary was just too good to pass up. Hopefully I can do it some justice. ^^ 
> 
> Future chapters will have multiple entries each (unless one entry is long enough on its own). This is just the jumping off point ^^
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you stick around~


	2. Living Arrangements; A Week; The Commissary

##  **[Entry 0.0.2]**

**Time: 10:04 PM**

**Location: Shared Quarters with Madame Fae**

**Subject: ‘Living Arrangements’**

 It’s the next night, approximately the same time as yesterday. No indication you’ve read this yet, but I surmise you’re just giving me time to dole out more entries. Fair enough. You’ll likely read these at the end of the week. _Maybe_ at the end of the month, but that seems a bit too long a wait; it’d hardly be suitable to monitor me in this manner if you weren’t constantly checking in. Besides, you’re known for your compassion, Madame, not your patience.

 Today was as yesterday was: uneventful. I provided the higher-ups with further information that could be helpful to us, small things such as protocols and regulations (though I mentioned those are subject to change), and possible targets we can hit that would hinder the Empire as a whole. I’m not sure they fully trust me yet, but they’re taking my advice to heart, it seems.

 You know, when they told me we’d be sharing a room “for an indefinite amount of time”, I thought it might give me a chance to learn more about you through sheer observation. One can learn much about someone by seeing what possessions they have…

 ...Except you don’t have any.

 A few datapads, certainly, and a blaster you keep by your bed (why I don’t know; your arm is weapon enough in the event of a surprise. I hear you even have contact stunners installed). But there's nothing out of the ordinary or significantly unique. 

 The tapestries on the wall above your bed are intriguing, but I can’t tell if they’re yours or if they came with the place. Regardless, they appear to be of some cultural significance. Mind talking about them?

 ----

 ADDENDUM [Time: 12:24 PM]: Trouble falling asleep, and another question has come to mind: why _are_ we sharing a room? Yes I know there's hardly enough space to keep everyone here, so most everyone has to share as it is, but why put me with you? Isn't it a risk putting a man and a woman in the same room together? (Not that I'd try anything, mind you -- you're not my type -- and even if you were I highly doubt I'd live to tell the tale.) I know in the Empire, if two people of the opposite sex were caught sharing private quarters, harsh reprimands would be delivered upon them.

Must simply be another difference in regulation. It doesn't matter, really. I like sharing a room with you. _You_ don't snore. 

##  **[Entry 0.0.3]**

**Location: Shared Quarters with Madame Fae**

**Time: 10:56 PM**

**Subject: ‘A Week’**

It’s officially been a week since we’ve arrived on Yavin, a week since Chopper Base was lost. It certainly doesn’t feel that long, but then again, everything’s been so hectic. It’s hard to keep track of time when nothing ever stands still. The only reason I have my days straight even now is because of this stupid journal.

 I’m sorry. It’s not stupid, but you get my point. I just don’t like writing.

 Today especially I don’t like writing, because all I can think about was how helpless I felt that day. How I’d lead Thrawn right to the rebels because I wasn’t _careful_ enough, or smart enough, or _strong_ enough.

 I’m tired. I don’t like writing. This is all you’re getting from me today.

 I’m fine. Today was fine.

##  **[Entry 0.0.4]**

**Location: Shared Quarters with Madame Fae**

**Time: 10:31 PM**

**Subject: ‘The Commissary’**

The first time I ate in the commissary was the day of our arrival. After I’d been checked over and debriefed, Hera was kind enough to take me there to get something to eat. No one really paid me much notice, but I’ve yet to decide if it was because I was the least of everyone’s concerns at the time, or if it was because Hera’s glare told them to keep their mouths shut. (She’s very motherly, you know. I’m at least ten years her senior yet even I find myself hesitating to make her mad, like she might slap my hand or something.)

 I didn't mind the place then, but again, Hera was there, and no one noticed me. After that, I was assigned to you, and when I asked, you agreed that we could go ahead and eat in our room instead, since I wasn’t convinced the good fortune of being forgotten about would last.

 And, of course, it didn’t.

 They try to be quiet about it when they talk about me, especially when they see me around you or Zeb, mostly because you’re...well, _you,_  and Zeb has taken to growling at gossipers, but I still hear them. Their distrust.

 They have every right to feel the way they do. In fact I’d wager I’d be more concerned if they _weren’t_ suspicious of my sudden change of heart. Normally, the rumors don’t bother me.

 Today though? Today was difficult. Maybe it’s because I’m still running off the depressive high of yesterday’s anniversary, or maybe everyone was just a little bit _louder_.

 I ate in the commissary today, like you’d suggested, since you were gone away all day at some important meeting or another. Hera wasn’t there, nor was Zeb, so I seriously thought of simply eating alone in our room, but I didn’t want to disobey one of your orders. (It _was_ an order, wasn't it? I can never tell with you.) So I went there, grabbed my meal, and sat as far away from the larger crowd as I possibly could.

No one came up to me, no one tried to talk to me, but they did talk _about_ me. I know they did because they continued to glance at me with furrowed brows and slight frowns. It was uncomfortable and awkward, and no longer am I going to take our evening meals in our room for granted. Eating with you, just the two of us in our little space, listening to music and deciding which songs we like and don’t like, is so much better than feeling the weight of everyone’s judgement.

 Speaking of, Zeb says tomorrow he’s going to show me some of his favorite songs. I told him a bit about our little dinner ritual, and he says he wants to pop in and join us sometime.

 I think it’s a good idea, personally, because as off-topic as this is, I really want to see you two arm wrestle.


	3. Yavin IV; Young Rebels; Diary Advice

* * *

##  **[Entry 0.0.5]**

**Location: Perimeter of the Massassi Temple**

**Time: 10:01 PM**

**Subject: ‘Yavin IV’**

The endless questioning of higher command is actually starting to look not-so-endless, as today it only took a mere two hours rather than the initial three-to-five of the past week. As such, today I actually had...well, _time._

Time’s not something I usually have, you know. I’m used to having something to do, or if I don’t I’m pretty good at going about finding something, but that was in the Empire, where the duties of a Star Destroyer’s cogs were infinite if not mundane.

Here it’s different, not because of a lack of things to do but because I’m not entirely sure what I _should_ be doing. The mutterings of the others keep me from wanting to interact with anyone outside strict business, I’m thus far not really permitted to do more than physical labor (and even that’s restricted because of injuries, new and old alike). In the ISB I at least had desk work I always needed to catch up on. No such desk work here save the briefing and filing of relevant enemy information, which, nine days into, is getting scarce as it is.

So, today I had time, and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I spent it researching this moon, because it’s good to know where you are, right?

To be honest, I couldn’t find much about the place itself beyond just general information about the ecosystem and landmarks, which aren’t fun to write about. What I _did_ find that piqued some kind of interest was about the Massassi temple itself. Apparently, it was built some five thousand years ago by a warrior-like people of the same name, whom had been enslaved by the Sith, prized for their great size and strength. They were quite...well, _simple_ , to put it nicely. Barbarians. At least, that’s all we know for now; there’s not much recorded about the culture itself, strangely enough, though they _have_ been extinct for a great many years now.

I understand some of the rebels have banded together to try and glean more information about the species, both through the study of architecture and intense research. I might do the same, seeing as I don't exactly have much to do at the moment, but I’ll do so on my own. I’d rather not do a group study of _anything_ , thank you very much.

Since today’s topic (is it okay to do topics for diaries? It makes things easier for me) was about Yavin IV, I sat outside tonight to write. It’s...kinda nice out? Still very _warm_ and humid. I feel sorry for Zeb and all the other fur-covered rebels; it _can’t_ be comfortable for them here. Your probably comfortable though, being amphibious and all. (That's not insensitive to say, is it?)

I think I’ll sit out here a bit longer, enjoy the fresh air, listen to some of that music Zeb showed me earlier. It's definitely different from what we usually listen to, but it's not bad. Not bad at all. 

##  **[Entry 0.0.6]**

**Location: Shared Quarters with Madame Fae**

**Time: 10:41 PM**

**Subject: ‘Young Rebels’**

Apparently not being cleared for something means absolutely _nothing_ to you, because _you_ went and had me train the younger ones when you could have just as easily asked Rex to do it. (And you _like_ him a whole lot more than you like me.)

... _Thank you._

I’m not sure whether or not you’ll get chewed out for it, but I’d have been dreadfully bored today had you not asked me to come with you. I know in the last entry I said I would do my due diligence about researching the Massassi people on my off days, but frankly I’m much more of a doer than a thinker -- no matter how good I am at the latter. Sitting around reading was never exactly my favorite thing to do.

The doctor I’ve been seeing is a very kind man, but I’m afraid he’s rather overly-cautious when it comes to me pushing my limits. Makes the claim I’m prone to overworking myself, considering how life in the Empire isn’t a forgiving one. (I asked him how he knew that; he said it was common knowledge to everyone, except me, apparently.) (I really am daft, aren’t I?)

I know my limits though, and rather well at that. Teaching a couple of ‘younglings’, as you call them, how to hold and shoot a gun is very much something I am, at present, capable of doing. Now running? Running is _not_ something I’m capable of doing. Not yet.

Learned that the hard way today. After we were done with our session, one of them asked me to race them. Why I don’t know, but he was definitely the hyperactive sort, skinny boy just a few years younger than Ezra with a head of curly, bright red hair. I think he said his name was Dev, or at least that’s the shortened version of his name.

I agreed because I thought it would win me at least some rapport with the rebels. I never have been good at connecting with young ones, and the Alliance is _ripe_ with them.

Long story short, I tripped and fell on my ass. The kids laughed. Zeb saw my fall and came rushing to my aid, noble lasat that he is, all concern and worry, which did _nothing_ to help ease my embarrassment, mind you, and was subsequently carried all the way to the aforementioned doctor despite being completely and totally  _fine._

The leg’s still sore -- never healed properly when I first broke it, and Thrawn’s...treatment did nothing but make it worse -- and I’m convinced that I’ll a new nickname by tomorrow, but I think this might actually help me in the end.

People falling on their asses tend to not be viewed as monsters.

##  **[Entry 0.0.7]**

**Location: Shared Quarters with Madame Fae**

**Time: 10:37 PM**

**Subject: ‘Diary Advice’**

It’s officially been a week since I started this journal, and I learned two things about it today, one being that Fae isn’t actually reading this, and probably never will, because she said it goes against its purpose of helping me to manage mental distress. I even dropped hints about what I’ve been writing about, and she had no clue at all what I was talking about. Either that, or she’s a better actress than I pegged her for. (Though Rex says she has a strict no lying policy, so...she _can’t_ be acting, right?)

And, upon learning that, I realized I have no _karking_ clue how to write in a diary. These are basically all just little letters to ~~you~~  Fae, and now that I know ~~you~~  she’ll never read them, I’m stumped as to what to actually write about. It all seems kinda redundant now, writing stuff down that I don’t _really_ need to write down. It's not like I have a faulty memory or anything, and again I find myself questioning how in the world this is supposed to be helping me.

When I told ~~you~~  Fae this just five minutes ago, ~~you~~  she  _laughed_ (which wasn’t very nice, by the way), and told me to just keep doing what I’m doing, if that’s what I’m comfortable with. Thing is though is that if I feel like I’m writing all this out to someone, won’t I be inclined to keep some stuff out that I don’t want said imaginary person to know, thus risking this exercise altogether?

She says she’ll put down a few prompts for me to follow whenever I don’t have something to write. Questions and stuff, some personal some not. She even says she’ll put down little short story prompts, because...literature shows the soul. I guess.

I don’t know. I’m confused, I’m tired, I don’t know yet if I want to keep up the addressing of ‘you’ even though ‘you’ say it’s perfectly fine, even though I keep writing ‘you’ even though ‘you’ aren’t there.

We’ll see, I guess. As for my day today, today was actually pretty good, diary problems aside. Very ordinary, whatnot with the questioning and running menial errands and the like. Also, I was right when I said I’d have a new nickname. I am thus far known as the infamous “Klutzy Kal”.

I absolutely _hate_ it. But, it’s progress.

...I think?

( _You_ certainly got a kick out of it anyways.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is late! I came down with a nasty case of pneumonia, along with a side of writer's block (in case it wasn't obvious with that last entry there lul). Hopefully, I can get back on track here on out.
> 
> Also, thank you so, so much for the support! I'm blown away by the reception this has gotten so far. I always get paranoid whenever I make a piece of my writing public, so it's really I guess validating to have you guys enjoy it so much!
> 
> Things are still pretty tame, but in the next chapter or so there might be a bit of angst to spice things up~~
> 
> **Words crossed out represent deleting, in case it wasn't clear.


End file.
